In Disguise
by Write it Right
Summary: Peter Parker/Spider-Man meets someone new, but is she an ally or a simply a danger?
1. Fate From a Falcon

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Fate From a Falcon

by Write it Right

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AN: This story is based on the Spider-Man movie, not the comic books. I know how the story of Peter Parker turns out, and I know this story differs from that, but it's just fan fiction, okay? It's not the real stuff! So , keeping that in mind, I hope you enjoy my story!

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Starring…

Tobey Maguire as Peter Parker/Spider-Man

Cassidy Rae as Cynthia May Stevens/Falconess

J. K. Simmons as J. Jonah Jameson

Rosemary Harris as Aunt May Reilly-Parker

Kirsten Dunst as Mary Jane (M.J.) Watson

Orlando Bloom as Thomas Stevens

Michel Paulson as Samantha Zeigler

Carrie Caldwell as Emma Singer

Ryan Gosling as Chad Luker

Elizabeth Banks as Betty Brant

Peter Parker worked his way through the crowd, trying to find good spots to take pictures. It was the annual Medieval Festival and he'd been assigned to go and snap some photos for the newspaper. After finishing college and becoming a professional photographer, J. Jonah Jameson of the _Daily Bugle_ had finally decided his talent and skills at the camera were just good enough to be included in his newspaper.

It was a refreshing Saturday afternoon in the early spring. The green trees waved gently in the cool breeze, the budding flowers let out a small yet perfumed scent, and the warm sun rained down on the event-goers, and everyone was in a cheerful mood. Central Park was alive with the loud murmur of talking, the colorful decorations of the Medieval grounds, the strong smell of various snacks, and the hustle and bustle of the event workers and attendees. Peter soaked it all in. It was a perfect day.

As he focused on a little boy about to take a huge bite out of a juicy chicken leg, Peter noticed something out of the corner of his viewfinder. Behind the boy, a woman dressed to look like a fair damsel was riding by on a white horse. She smiled sweetly and waved to those nearby, her blonde hair shining golden in the sun and her silky garments glistening a pale peach and turquoise. The horse walked steadily and proudly, white tail and head held high in a show of grace and elegance. Peter was so transfixed he slowly lowered his camera and simply stared at the lady in awe. She was very pretty, not drop-dead gorgeous, but something about her was beautiful in and of itself.

The woman steered her horse through the crowd, away from the still-gaping photographer. Peter jumped out of his dream and ran to follow her. All he wanted was one clear shot of this radiance to keep, gaze at, and cherish forever… There it was. She had stopped her horse so its side was facing Peter, and she was looking at some object of interest behind him and off to his left. Focusing and zooming in slightly, he snapped a photo and quickly turned away so she wouldn't know he had taken the picture. A careful glance behind him, however, told him she hadn't even noticed and had ridden off.

Turning around again and sticking his hands in his pockets, Peter dreamily watched her until even his perfect vision couldn't make her out anymore. Sighing, he murmured, "And I thought M.J. was an angel when I first saw her…"

* * *

Cynthia got off her white Arabian horse and tied it to a tree so she could go get something to eat. She was starved after only three hours of volunteer work, and the Medieval dress she had to wear was making her hot and sweaty. Yes, it was pretty and looked good on her, with its v-neck and peach and turquoise colors, but the underskirts were making her die from heat. Wiping her blonde hair out of her face and neck, she eagerly glanced around for food. She immediately chose a lemonade and a salad from a nearby booth and was looking for a place to sit when she heard someone scream.

Turning to look, Cynthia saw a huge peregrine falcon diving straight at her. Someone shouted at her and told her to duck, but it did no good, for the falcon was incredibly fast and already on her. It slashed at the visible part of her upper back, and Cynthia cried out in pain, dropping her meal. The bird swooped down for another run and this time knocked her over with the force of its landing on her back. Squawking, it ripped open her flesh and pecked mercilessly at her. Cynthia screamed for help and people came running, some beating the falcon with bags and others throwing objects at it. It hissed at them and started to take off when a net came down over its head from the police and security guards on duty for the event.

The last thing Cynthia saw before blacking out was a group of paramedics rushing to her side and her beloved horse tugging, frightened, at his tie, whinnying and neighing with the whites of his dark eyes showing in fear.

* * *

Cynthia awoke to find herself in a hospital room lying in a slightly uncomfortable bed. As her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, she glanced around and immediately saw her college friend, Samantha Zeigler, sitting in a chair next to the bed, reading a magazine. Smiling, Cynthia quietly mumbled, "Hey, stranger."

Samantha's head snapped up and she squealed. "Ah! Bless you, you're awake!"

Cynthia laughed and asked, "How long have you been here and what time is it?"

"It's 9:30 p.m. now, and I've been here since 4. The hospital called me at 3:45 and told me you'd gotten attacked by a falcon. Imagine my surprise at _that_ news, Brit!" her friend explained with a smile, using her nickname for the British Cynthia. "You've been out since I came here. How do you feel now?"

Cynthia moved carefully but only a slight and temporary pain shot through her back. "Fine, actually. I was expecting it to hurt more than this."

"Yeah, you can go home tomorrow night," Samantha vaguely replied as she flipped through her magazine.

"What??!!" Cynthia cried, sitting straight up as pain flashed quickly in her back. She winced, but continued, "That's insane! I just got here today!"

"The nurse told me it wasn't as bad as it had looked when the paramedics brought you in." The girl shrugged. "Frankly, I don't know 'cause I wasn't there and I never saw your back."

"But… but that falcon clawed at me and pecked the crap out of me! It hurt! Bad! And something stung about it, too…"

"I don't know, Brit. I'm just glad you're okay and it wasn't more serious," Sam solemnly replied.

Suddenly Cynthia remembered her horse. "Shadowfax! Shadowfax: Sam, is he all right?"

Sam laughed and replied, "Yes, I made sure he got back to the stables. I think the falcon scared him because he was jittery, but he was probably more worried for you!" After a little pause, she slapped her knees and jumped up. "I'm going to go get some pop. You want me to get you something?"

"No. No, that's okay," Cynthia absently answered her. "Thanks anyway, Sam." As her friend left, the British woman pondered over why the wound hadn't been as terrible as it should've been for the magnitude of pain she'd suffered during the attack. The falcon had been bigger than usual, that was for certain, so why wasn't she injured more? Why had she felt like she was being slashed to pieces and burned with a fiery poison that coursed like lightning through her veins, but she'd ended up with no more than a day and a half's stay in the hospital? What was going on?

* * *

"Peter!" There was a knock at the door. "Peter, you'll be late for church!"

The photographer moaned and rolled over slowly as he heard his Aunt's wake-up call. Glancing at the clock as his eyes began to focus, he saw it was already 9:30. "Oh, crap!" Peter jumped out of bed and threw on his bathrobe, yelling, "I'll be right down, Aunt May!" He quickly opened his blinds and flew out the door into the bathroom. He'd stayed up late talking with Mary Jane, or M.J. as her friends fondly liked to call her. For as long as he could remember, he'd had a crush on this red-haired girl who lived next door. Up until a year ago he'd had a crush, that is. After finishing college and dating M.J. on and off, they had both decided to remain just good friends. It was for the best, because M.J. knew his "secret," and they both knew she could've been an easy target for one of Peter's enemies to hurt. Had they gone further in their relationship, who knows what would've happened. Now that they were close friends, Peter felt as though he could tell her anything, and they talked often very easily about various topics, sometimes late into the night. Last night had been one of those late nights, and now Peter scolded himself for staying up until one talking with M.J. in his living room.

As Peter madly scarfed down some breakfast, he tried to kill two birds with one stone by also deciding on what he'd wear to church when Aunt May interrupted his thoughts.

"Did you see the article in the _Times_ this morning about the Medieval Festival yesterday, Peter?"

"No, I didn't. I just got up," he pointed out through a mouthful of toast.

Aunt May smiled and replied, "Oh, yes! Silly me! Well, it turns out that a young woman got attacked by a peregrine falcon."

"What?!" Peter choked on his orange juice and coughed. After recovering, he stared at his aunt with wide eyes and cried, "When??? I was there almost the whole morning and afternoon, and I didn't hear anything about that!"

May picked up the paper and scanned an article. "It says here it happened shortly after three."

Peter snapped his fingers. "Darn it! I left right before then! The _Bugle_ could've used a story like that, and Mr. Jameson would've _loved_ it." Sighing, he asked, "There any pictures of the attack?"

"No, there aren't," Aunt May answered, shaking her head. "There are some of the Festival itself, but nothing else."

"Crap. I can't believe this," Peter scolded himself as he went upstairs. "Up comes a chance for me to get a good article in and I miss it! So much for that raise I was hoping for."

* * *

"'… Few mortal eyes have seen the light That lies there ever, long and bright. Galadriel! Galadriel!'" Cynthia quoted from her favorite book series, _The Lord of the Rings_. She finished the song and smiled at Samantha. "Your turn! Bet you can't recall a better verse than that!"

Samantha wrinkled her brow as she tried to remember a _Lord of the Rings_ poem. Then with a grin she recited, "'Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.'" Sam smirked.

"Darn it all, Sam! I can't _believe_ that I forgot that one," Cynthia growled. She quoted another passage, which was followed by another from Samantha. And so the memory contest continued between the two Tolkien fans until they began to run out of poems and songs. Just as Cynthia started to say, "The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began," the door to her hospital room flew open and in strolled a handsome and dashing young man.

"Are you _still_ in love with those children's books?" he cried with a sarcastic smile and a British accent as clear and crisp as Cynthia's.

"TOMMY!!!" the hospitalized woman cried, flinging her arms open to give her older brother a hug. "I can't believe it's you!!! Why are you here, buddy?"

Thomas laughed as he carefully embraced his beloved sister. "Sam called me when she got to the hospital yesterday, and I flew down here as soon as I heard what had happened to you. Dad and Mum are coming in this afternoon, but I couldn't wait that long, so I decided to come down to see how you were doing."

Cynthia's smile slowly faded as they pulled apart. "Looks like we're all missing church then today."

Thomas patted her hand. "Hey, it's not your fault. God planned for you to get attacked and for all this to happen. For what reason, I don't know! But if He wanted you to get assaulted by a _bird_, then so be it, though it may be insane in our minds!"

Cynthia didn't hesitate. "Everything's insane in your mind! It should be labeled: 'Warning! Crazy and ridiculous mind hazardous to your health.'"

* * *

Peter tentatively entered his publisher's office, knowing full well he was about to get a huge lecture about missing the attack at the Festival. J. Jonah Jameson sat there puffing a cigar with his feet up on his desk, scanning over a piece of paper in his hands. Peter stood patiently and waited for Jameson to notice him. When it didn't seem like that'd happen anytime soon, Peter slowly cleared his throat and spoke quietly, "Uh, Mr. Jameson? You said you wanted to see me?"

The publisher of the _Daily Bugle_ snapped his head up and cried, "Parker! I called for you minutes ago! Where've you been?" Peter was about to say he'd been there all along when Jameson interrupted him. "Ah, never mind. As long as you're here now, I don't care. I'll just fire the secretary for getting my message to you so late." Peter rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I'm wondering what happened with the Festival attack on Saturday. Why'd you miss it? The _Bugle_ would've gotten more publicity!"

Peter sighed. He'd been expecting this. "Well, the fact is, sir, that I left right before it happened. I'd been there since 11, and gotten to all the main attractions, so I figured there couldn't be much more to see that day."

"I don't take excuses," Jameson gruffly replied. "But seeing as you were there four hours, I don't blame you. Would've left myself even _earlier_ than that! I'd rather be here working than milling around in some germ-infested crowd of fantasy fans." Peter wondered why he was so keen on keeping healthy when he smoked all the time. "So what made you stay so long, kid?"

"In all honesty, Mr. Jameson, I kind of like things like that." After a suspicious glare from the man, Peter mumbled, "And… I was also seeing if I couldn't find some good story to write so I could get that raise you offered, but I blew _that_ chance."

"Nonsense! There's always a second chance," Jameson argued, blowing out some smoke. As Peter tried not to choke, the publisher continued, "You've got what it takes, kid, and I'm willing to give you another chance to get that raise. You just better make it worth my while. I-"

"Mr. Jameson?" Betty Brant, the secretary, hesitantly asked, peeking in.

The man looked over impatiently at his door where she stood. "What?!"

"Your niece is on the phone. She wants to tell you that…" Brant paused and checked her notepad, wrinkling her nose. "She wants to talk to you about something having to do with monkeys and meatballs."

Jameson burst into loud guffaws and slapped his knee. Peter raised an eyebrow and shared amazed glances with Betty. Jameson _never_ laughed. A smile was even rare. This was a record-breaking event: Jameson was actually _laughing_ in front of his employees. Peter and the secretary didn't know what to do. They just stared in shock.

Amidst chuckles, Jameson told Brant, "Put the call through to me, please. And get out. I'm not done talking with Parker here." He was still laughing quietly.

"Um… monkeys and meatballs, sir?" Peter asked in slight disbelief.

"Ah, it's an inside joke between me and my niece. You wouldn't understand it and you don't need to know," Jameson explained. "Actually, you'd understand it, but I don't dare tell you. It'd ruin my good reputation." As Peter smiled and started chuckling, the publisher picked up his phone and loudly cried, "Are you trying to scare me with that memory on purpose?" He laughed and then said, "I haven't heard that in a long time!"

As Jameson kept conversing with his niece, Peter carefully snuck a glance at his watch. He wanted to get to work so he could go to the library and chill for a while before going home. His publisher obviously saw this gesture and waved him off, implying that he could leave. Peter gave a nod of thanks and left the office hearing Jameson laugh again. Shaking his head in awe, Peter mumbled, "Monkeys and meatballs…!"

* * *

Cynthia had gone home Sunday night to her own apartment with Thomas coming along to stay and watch over her. Their parents had flown in and were staying at a nearby hotel, and that had seemed just fine with her as she had gotten ready for bed. She wouldn't have been able to stand their worrying over her as it hit.

For no reason at all, a headache had seized her and had pounded so hard it had felt as though her head would explode from the force. Then her arms and feet had started aching like mad. She'd told Thomas she was going to bed and that she'd see him in the morning as calmly and normally as she could with the excruciating pain that was taking over her entire being. Cynthia had gone into the bathroom as quickly as possible and washed her hot face. Suddenly, everything had gotten worse right at that moment. Her thumping head had flamed up into an agony beyond measure and her arms and feet had ached like she'd run 50 miles non-stop and lifted weights for hours without a break. All Cynthia had thought of as she had staggered into her room and curled up tightly in bed was the pain, the throbbing, intense, constant pain. It had taken all her remaining strength to call out to her dear brother, but even then her voice had come out only as a strained moan. She'd avoided him because she'd thought it wasn't a big deal… until then. Then she had wanted him more than ever.

As sweat rolled down her forehead, Cynthia had raised her bloodshot eyes to Heaven and begged God to stop the torture. Then darkness had surrounded her (had it been from sleep or from passing out?), her vision went, and she remembered no more.

But she was here now, alive. Cynthia was not dead and she felt as healthy as ever as she drove to the library to drop off some books she was done with. It was Monday afternoon and she had already called work that morning telling them she was going to be out that day. Heck, yes, she felt much better, better than she had ever felt in her life, but something about that very fact bothered Cynthia and she wanted to make sure she was fine.

She'd called her Uncle John right after that, managing to throw in one of their old inside jokes before relating the events on Saturday to him.

"Why didn't you tell me _sooner_?!" he'd cried with obvious frustration when she'd revealed everything about five minutes into the conversation.

"Uncle John," she'd calmly sighed in a matter-of-fact voice. "Aunt and I force you on that vacation this past weekend to Hawaii, remember? You were _gone_."

"Oh, yeah."

A lame and rather hilarious answer. Cynthia had laughed and then invited him and his family out for dinner that night since her whole family was in town. John had agreed as long as it didn't start until seven so it wouldn't interrupt his work schedule. Cynthia had rolled her eyes, glad he couldn't see her do so. Her uncle would never change.

She hummed now as she pulled into the library parking lot. She had time to spare, Thomas was checking out all her "American" TV channels back at her apartment, and her parents were still at the hotel, probably making their usual business calls, so Cynthia decided she'd hang out at the library for an hour or so. She'd taken her laptop along so she could work on her web sites. All her files were on it, so it didn't really pay to come to the library just to work on-line when she had nothing to work with. Besides, who'd want to work on the library's boring computers when you could take your own personalized laptop instead?

After returning her books, she quickly browsed through the new releases section and then went and picked out some books. Settling down at a table, she set up her laptop and turned it on. Cynthia connected to the Internet and glanced at the front doors as the alarm went off because someone had forgotten to check a book out. She felt sorry for the woman who had all eyes turned to her now, and the British woman turned back to her own business.

"What the-?!" She flung her head back up and stared at the front doors again. Everything was clear. _Too_ clear for her contacts. Looking around, Cynthia realized everything she could see was perfect. She could even read the titles of the books lined up on the shelves farthest away from her. Cynthia whipped out her purse, digging for her compact and her mind racing. She didn't remember putting on her contacts that morning! Then again, she couldn't remember taking them _out_ last night, either. Maybe she _had_ taken them out but couldn't recall doing so because of her delusional state at that time, and maybe she _had_ put them back in that morning but didn't remember doing this, either, just because it was so routine to her daily life. Or she could've even slept with them in and not noticed because of her pain. Yes, that sounded rational. Either option made sense.

Then she looked at her green eyes in the mirror of her compact. The lines that usually distinguished her contacts from her eyes were gone. Cynthia rubbed her eyes -- hard -- to make sure. Her fear was confirmed: she didn't have her contacts in.

Cynthia leaned back in her chair in astonishment. No contacts???!!! How in the _world_ could she _see_ this well?! She _must've_ taken them out the night before and somehow not put them in that morning. She'd probably assumed that she _had_ slept with them in and not thought anything of it. The Brit needed more proof. This time she whipped out her glasses and stuck them on. It was fuzzy, just as she'd assumed, but it was _more_ fuzzy than if she'd had her contacts in and had put on her glasses on top of them.

Cynthia barely lodged the spectacles right above her forehead so she could see. Her laptop's screensaver had come on by now and the multi-colored lines were swirling around the screen in no decipherable pattern. She stared at it and realized how similar the chaos was to her confused brain. She had no idea how this could've happened. How did one go to bed one night with terrible eyesight and wake up seeing with vision a million times better than 20/20?

"Excuse me." Cynthia's glasses slipped down and landed on her nose just before she looked up to see who had spoken to her. She squinted at the fuzzy figure standing at the table and immediately grabbed the things off her face. _Stupid glasses. Won't need those anymore._

"Have we met before?" the man asked.

Cynthia immediately noticed his crystal blue eyes. "No… I don't believe we have!" she replied uncertainly.

"I mean, you just-just look so… familiar," he stammered. He was looking at her like she was a suspected criminal or something, inspecting every inch of her with his gorgeous blue eyes to see if she was the right person or not, yet he seemed unsure of himself and confused at the same time.

Noticing the intense look he was directing at her, Cynthia shrugged and eyed him curiously. She knew she'd _never_ seen him before, so then why did he remember _her_? "Well… maybe you saw me somewhere… like the subway, the train? A public event? A baseball g-"

"_That_ was it!!!" he cried triumphantly as he let out a cute grin. Cynthia felt her heart start beating faster at that smile. "Were you at the Medieval Festival Saturday?"

"Yes, I was! I was using my horse to do some volunteer work there," Cynthia replied.

The brown-haired man nodded. "I saw you riding around. No wonder you looked familiar!"

Cynthia flashed one of her big and bright smiles at him. "Yes, it was fun."

"Umm… I'm Peter Parker," he introduced himself, offering his hand.

Cynthia shook it and answered, "Cynthia Stevens. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Parker!"

"Oh, please! Call me Peter," he corrected her politely with a slight grin.

Cynthia nodded and replied, "All right!" She didn't want to let go of his hand, but she did with reluctance.

Peter seemed reluctant as well as he commented, "Uh… nice accent you got there!"

Cynthia laughed. "Thank you! But to me all of you have accents over here in America!"

"Well, some of us _do_! You should hear some Southerners sometime!" He smiled again, making her heart pump even more rapidly, if that was possible. "You from Great Britain?"

"Yes, I was born and raised in London," Cynthia explained.

"How cool! Why are you over here in the U.S.?" Peter questioned.

"I'm living here. I just wanted to get out on my own and see the world."

"Wow," Peter breathed. "That's great!" Suddenly, he seemed to get embarrassed. He shifted his books from one arm to the other and nervously mumbled, "Uh… I'd b-better get going."

"All right! It was nice meeting you, Peter!" She smiled.

"You, too! Bye!" Peter waved as he quickly walked off.

"Umm… bye," Cynthia murmured quietly. "Hmm. Rather shy fellow. Shy, but polite!"

* * *

"It scared me, M.J., I'm telling you!" Peter cried into the phone. "I mean, I'm not one to talk to girls really easily and there I was conversing with a woman I don't even know! It wasn't one of those deep discussions or anything, but I opened my mouth and traded some words with her, and _stranger_."

"Yeah, that's not like you! You could barely talk to me even when you _knew_ me, but now that we're close friends you can talk openly about almost anything," Mary Jane replied. She paused. "So why _did_ you talk to her? You changing or something?"

"Ooohhhhhh, no!" Peter chuckled. "I'm definitely NOT changing! I skee-daddled out of there as soon as she stopped talking and I realized my mind was blank, as usual. I got that panicky feeling and I knew I should say something, but I didn't know what! I guess I chickened out."

M.J. laughed. "Maybe you did, but she _must_ have something special about her if you even dared initiate a conversation with her. And you never told me why you went to talk to her in the first place."

"I was just curious… I mean, I _know_ I'd seen her somewhere and it would've driven me nuts if I'd never found out just exactly where. Curiosity and a disturbed mind probably drove me to do the unexpected!"

"What can I say? 'Curiosity killed the cat,'" M.J. said matter-of-factly. Then Peter heard her let out a yawn over the phone and she stated, "Well, I'm going to go to bed. I had to get up early for that audition today and I'm shot."

"Okay. I hope you get the part, and get some sleep!" Peter replied with sincerity.

"Thanks. I'll see you later, Peter. 'Night!"

"Good-night, M.J." He slowly hung up the receiver and plopped himself on his bed, letting out a huge breath. He still couldn't believe he'd talked to Cynthia. But when he'd walked past her table and had seen her sitting there, staring blankly at her laptop, his mind had told him to stop. No, it hadn't been his spider-sense; that was only for danger. No, it had been… something else. Curiosity and something else… they'd made him stop. Peter racked his brain and realized that he had not only recognized her, but he'd also felt sorry for her. He had seen her confused and troubled expression and wanted to see if she was okay.

Yep, that was one of his soft spots. Caring about others in need. That's why he risked his life every day to help the people of New York. And he got nothing back for it, except admiration or hate. Well, maybe not _him_, exactly; it was his other self they loved or hated, his other character. His superhero persona…

Peter slapped his forehead. He might be a superhero, yeah, but he sure hadn't sounded like one around Cynthia. He cringed as he remembered some of the things he'd said to her: "Have we met before?" (of course they hadn't, 'cause he would've remembered her better if they _had_), "I saw you riding… no wonder you looked familiar!" (no, DUH), "Nice accent you got there!" (what had that had to do with anything?), "You from Great Britain?" (no, where else would she be from? Outer space?). Peter sighed and mumbled to himself, "My luck with women is about as good as a fisher's when he's fishing in a dry lake."

* * *

Cynthia got back to her apartment and saw Thomas still in the spot he had been in when she'd left. Either he hadn't moved from that couch, or he _had_ but just always sat back down in the exact same spot. She walked over, put her hands on her hips, and checked the TV. The screen kept changing as her brother flipped through the channels. "You like that, huh?"

He simply nodded in return, eyes glued to the screen.

Rolling her eyes, Cynthia went into her room to change into something more comfortable until they had to go to dinner that night. Pulling on some sweats and a tank-top, she stepped inside the bathroom to check on her contacts. Yep, they were in their case all right. So she _had_ taken them out. "Imagine that," Cynthia mumbled to herself. "They _are_ out, and I can see better than ever without them."

Just as she was about to leave the room, she saw her arms. Her _buff_ arms. Her really, REALLY buff arms. Cynthia's eyes widened and she flexed. Her arms bulged like a balloon being blown up, and she yelped.

"Cynthia? You okay, sis?" Thomas' voice came from the living room area.

"Oh, yes! I'm all right!" she replied too quickly and shakily. She calmed herself and explained, "I, um… I just shocked myself." And, boy, had she.

"Well, stay away from the outlets then."

_No! Not that kind of shock!_ Cynthia wanted to scream. _You know, Thomas?! The kind of shock that comes from your muscles suddenly growing overnight?_ Instead, she smoothly agreed, "Sure. I will." Flexing again, she felt her stomach harden and realized she was stronger _everywhere_. She'd been slightly muscular before, but this was beyond anything she'd ever been or seen.

Her eyes rested on a bottle of nail polish that she had thrown in the trash because it was so old and dried shut. Curious if her idea would work, she picked it out of the bin and glared at it evilly. Gripping the lid, she turned it and as she'd suspected yet to her surprise, it came right off. Like, _right_ off. The lid was ripped off the glass bottle and the still-wet polish dripped over the shattered sides. She couldn't believe she'd ruined it. Sure, she knew she'd be able to open it with her new-found strength, but she had _no clue_ she'd BREAK it!!!

Cynthia stared open-mouthed at her arms and then at her own reflection in the mirror. This was majorly scaring her. She needed something to calm her down. Scurrying into the kitchen, she whipped out a Starbuck's Frappuchino from the fridge and gently turned the lid. She barely used any strength before it popped open. Cynthia shook her head.

"Hey!"

Cynthia gagged on the coffee and whirled to stare at Thomas.

"Are you sure you're all right? You're acting so weird!" her brother questioned, looking at her with concern from the couch.

Cynthia gulped and stammered, "I-I'm fine… I just, um…" A thought popped into her head and her eyes widened. "I haven't checked on Shadowfax! I just realized that!"

"Oh." Thomas rolled his eyes. "That stupid horse of yours?"

Cynthia glared. "He's not stupid, and you know it! You're just jealous I got a horse for my 16th birthday and you didn't!"

"That's because I got the car I wanted," Thomas argued.

"Yes, but you know you also wanted a horse."

"Are you going to go ride your little gelding or not?" Thomas cried, getting annoyed.

Cynthia bowed her head. "If you insist, my lord!" She got into her riding breeches and boots, but decided to leave her tank on because it was a hot day. Grabbing her purse and velvet riding hat, she opened the front door.

"Hey!"

"What now, Thom?" Cynthia snapped in exasperation. "And don't you dare say that these breeches make me look fat or there'll be serious consequences, buddy!" _And I can say that with assurance this time!_ she laughed to herself.

He stared at her and she noticed his bug-eyed gaze was directed at her arms. "My gosh, Thia! Have you been working out since I saw you last? You've gotten stronger!"

All she could do was smile as she walked out the door. _You have no idea, dear brother!_

* * *

"Hello, Peter!" Betty Brant smiled at the photographer as he walked into the _Daily Bugle_'s main office.

"Hi, Betty. Do I have any messages or anything?" he absently replied as he dug for a letter in his bag.

"Nope. Nothing today!"

Peter thought Jameson's secretary was a bit too cheerful at times. "K, thanks. Hey, may I borrow a pen a minute? I have to put the address on this letter." She nodded and handed him the writing utensil, and he set the envelope on her desk to write more easily.

"See you later, Betty! I'm off to work!"

Peter froze. That voice was way too similar to another voice he had glued into his brain. Right as the secretary replied with a "bye, Cynthia," Peter looked up and saw the British girl walking towards them, paying no attention to anyone as she searched in her purse for something. In awe, he cried, "Cynthia?!"

Her head snapped up and after a moment of shock on her face a smile appeared on her face. "Peter!"

"What are you _doing_ here?" Peter could hardly believe his luck for seeing her again.

Cynthia laughed. "I was about to ask you the exact thing!"

"Well, I work here. I'm the head photographer, kind of."

"Really? I didn't know that!"

Her accent was killing him. "Why should you have?"

"Oh, I have connections to the _Bugle_. Don't ever remember hearing about you, though. And to answer your question, I was talking with my uncle before I had to go to work!" she explained sweetly.

_Okay, I have no recollection of any Brits working at the Bugle,_ Peter thought to himself. "Who's your uncle? Does he work here?"

Cynthia chuckled and shared an amused glance with Betty. "Does he _work_ here? Peter, my uncle's Mr. Jameson," she stated matter-of-factly.

Peter stared. "Are you serious?"

"Quite!"

"Wow. I did _not_ know that!"

"Why should you have?" Cynthia laughed, stealing his very words.

Peter just shrugged and smiled, but his mind was racing. He liked his boss' niece? That was scary. That was _weird_. It wasn't like he'd ever get the nerve to ask Cynthia out, anyway, so what did it matter? But he _had_ to ask her; she was so nice, so sweet, so pretty… so hard to talk to just because she was a girl! It drove Peter insane.

It wasn't until a few seconds later that Peter realized Cynthia was just staring at him with a gentle grin, and he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Betty Brant was glancing curiously back and forth between them with interest.

Then Cynthia's smile dropped and she looked disappointed. "Well, I, um… I should really be getting to work now."

"Yeah, okay," Peter relented sadly. "Sorry to hold you up."

"No, you didn't!" Another bright grin.

He shot her a smile right back. "Hope to see you again… um, sometime."

"Yes! And if you ever want a book or a cup of coffee, you can come to the Barnes and Noble in Union Square where I work and it's on me!" Cynthia offered.

"Thanks! I might take you up on that sometime!" As she left, Peter mentally kicked himself. _My gosh, Peter! She basically just asked you out before you did!_

* * *

"Chad, could you get me a caramel frappuchino?" Cynthia moaned to her co-worker and friend. "On second thought, make that a vente latte. This store's air conditioning is freezing me."

Chad Luker laughed and asked, "Bad day?"

"You better believe it." She thanked him as soon as he was done with the Starbuck's drink, payed him, and went back to her work of putting newly-arrived books away. As she took a drink of her coffee, some of it dripped out and landed on her hand. Her face wrinkled in pain as the hot liquid burned her skin. Immediately setting the cup down, she cried, "Ow! Geez!" and wrung her hand furiously to get the drink off.

Her feet lifted off the floor.

Cynthia gasped and stopped flinging her arm around, and she dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Looking around frantically, she realized that fortunately no one had seen her. In fact, no one was in the aisle she was in. She stared at her arm. Nothing seemed unusual about it… until she looked closer. With her super-vision, she saw that the hair on her arms wasn't really hair at all: it was feathers. Tiny, miniscule, microscopic feathers that only her vision could see and make out. Slowly lowering her limb, Cynthia's wide eyes darted around in confusion as her mouth hung open in shock. Her mind whirled, and her rational side told her there _had_ to be an explanation for everything that was happening to her. Then she remembered the falcon, the attack, the stinging in her back, the painful headache, the sore arms and feet… and something clicked.

"Holy… crap," Cynthia murmured in terror.

* * *

"Look! It's Spider-Man!" an onlooker of the car accident yelled. 

If it hadn't been for the street lights shimmering off Spidey's costume, no one would have ever noticed him since it was nighttime. The web-slinging hero swung by the wrecked van and the ambulances and chased after the hit-and-run car. As soon as he approached the car, Spider-Man could tell the driver was drunk. He swerved from one lane to another, not even thinking he could be caught for almost killing some innocent people. Well, he'd surprise the idiot if he had anything to do with it.

Shooting out a string and swinging in an arc, Spider-Man let go at just the right time to drop on top of the old El Camino. Something about the situation reminded him of another experience he'd had. In fact, it was in that experience that his Uncle Ben had died and Peter had decided to become Spider-Man, forever vowing to fight crime and stop lawbreakers. That memory just made him sad and angry, and that drove him to finish the job he'd started out to do when he'd observed the car crash. The drunkard was dropped right next to the waiting police car, and then Spider-Man swung away.

He landed on top of a tall building and pulled his mask off. "Another situation similar to that one and I'm gonna kill myself," Peter mumbled as he shook his head. "I've had enough of those." He sighed as he slumped to a sitting position in the corner. Running his fingers through his hair, Peter desperately wished his uncle were still alive. Sometimes he just needed a man to talk to, and his current obsession with Cynthia was something he really wanted to figure out. Sure, Aunt May and M.J. were nice and helpful, but he needed a _guy's_ point of view.

Suddenly, his spider-sense went off and he heard scuffling below him. Glancing over the edge of the building, he saw a woman being pulled away from the deserted entrance of an underground parking garage by a ruthless and burly-looking masked figure, his arms wrapped around her throat and waist. But right as Peter was about to slip on his own mask, he caught a glimpse of the woman's face. It was Cynthia! He froze in shock, and then an overwhelming urge to help her made him throw on his mask in anger.

He was too late. Or too slow. Either way, Cynthia was on top of things. She elbowed the man in the stomach, stepped hard on his foot, smacked his nose, and turned to face him as soon as he let go of her in pain. She took that opportunity to throw a blow with her booted foot to his groin, but he was faster. Grabbing her foot as it came at him, he twisted her leg, forcing her to the ground. Cynthia cried out in pain as the man chuckled menacingly, reaching into his black coat for something. He produced a gun.

Peter's spider-sense whirled madly in his brain and he knew it was his turn to take over. Shooting a web and swinging down, he smacked the gun out of the man's hands with his feet and then dropped, putting his hands on his hips and looking squarely at the man. "Pick on somebody your own size, why don't you?" He punched the man only twice in the head before he dropped to the ground, unconscious. "Treat her like a lady next time, buddy."

Peter turned to look at Cynthia, his heart racing from the whole thing. She was still on the ground, staring at him in wonder and panting in amazement. He went over to her cautiously and extended his hand. She took it with a wide smile (he knew he felt his knees go weak, but he tried to ignore it because, gosh dang it, he _was_ a superhero after all!) and Peter helped her up.

"You all right, miss?" He hoped she wouldn't recognize his voice.

Brushing herself off, the British woman replied, "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you so very much!"

"No problem! You didn't even need my help until just now. You've got some pretty good moves there," Peter complimented her.

Cynthia blushed. "Thank you. I, um… I took some self-defense classes before."

"That's a good thing! Glad you're okay. I'll watch to make sure you get into the garage safely." Peter sprinted onto the wall and started scrambling up it.  
"Wait, please! Spider-Man, I beg you!" came Cynthia's pleading voice.

He had to stop at that. _Aw, poop on you, Parker. You've got a soft spot for her._ He turned to look down at her. "Will you be requiring anything else, ma'am?"

Cynthia stared at him gently with wonder in her green eyes. "How can I ever repay you?"

"You don't have to. Hardly anyone does. I'm just delighted you even consider it."

Cynthia dug in her purse and pulled out her wallet.

"Oh, no! You don't have to!" Peter argued.

She handed him some bills. "I know, but I want to. It's the least I can do for the man that saved my life. Besides, I won't let you leave until you take this!" she stubbornly stated.

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, I bet you would, Miss Karate." He delicately accepted the money and nodded once in acknowledgement. "Thanks. Good-night." With that, he left no room for more talk as he climbed up the building and peered over the edge to watch her leave. He heard her mumble, "Good-night, and thank you again," before she walked into the parking garage, her keys between her fingers defensively.

Peter sat down on the rooftop and leaned against the brick. "Phew!" he whistled. "That was… odd. Didn't think I'd ever save _her_." Suddenly, he remembered the money she'd handed him, and he pulled off his mask. After counting it, his eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Oh, my GOSH!!! Two-hundred dollars???!!! How in the _world_ am I gonna explain this to anyone who asks where I suddenly got an extra two-hundred bucks?!"

* * *

Cynthia parked her BMW in her apartment building's private underground garage and climbed out, still in a daze from her rescue by Spider-Man at her work's parking garage entrance. Ever since coming to New York, she'd heard countless stories of the hero, especially nasty ones from her uncle. John didn't particularly care for Spidey, and Cynthia had just ignored his constant rants and raves about him. But now she disagreed with her uncle as she never thought she would: Spider-Man had saved her life, and for that she utterly respected him and admired him. If only she could make an impact on other people's lives like he had hers.

Cynthia stopped right in front of the elevator as an idea popped into her head. _You're crazy! You're just a crazy Brit in America, Cynthia!_ she scolded herself. As she fingered the elevator buttons, she realized she had no other option. All the ideas she'd come up with to explain her weird physical experiences seemed to drain from her mind now, and they no longer made sense. She had _just_ been seeing things when she discovered her feathers and she had _just_ been imagining she'd been flying because she was stocking bird watcher books??!! Yeah, sure: _those_ were reasonable explanations.

Then a vision of Spider-Man swinging down bravely to her rescue filled her head, and Cynthia set a determined finger on the button that said "rooftop." Her heart beat faster and faster on the way up, and when she stepped out onto the roof, she looked like someone from Star Wars, tough and invincible. There was no one around except for a couple in the hottub, and Cynthia's heart yearned for someone she could share her life with. But then she got down to business and went behind the elevator so the two couldn't see her. Hiding her purse and book bag behind a plant in the corner, Cynthia practiced flapping her arms and she lifted high into the air in seconds.

"Crikey!" Cynthia mumbled. She let herself fall and then took a deep breath as she got up on the stone ledge. Looking down at the street from her perilous height, she whimpered but gathered up her courage and jumped.

At first her heart leapt to her throat and she panicked, but then she remembered she _could_ fly and she pumped her arms up and down furiously. Within seconds she was no longer falling but soaring about 20 feet above the road. _Brilliant, Cynthia; someone's going to notice you here._ She flew higher with little effort and incredible speed, until she could only see the night sky around her and rooftops below her. As the wind rushed by, only then did she let out an exhilarated and ecstatic cry of joy.


	2. Changes

**__**

Changes

Heya, Diary!

Well, the costume is almost done, but I haven't figured out how I want the headpiece to be. I don't want it totally fitting like that wonderful Spider-Man's does, but how else can it be without using plastic or something? Oh, well… I'll tell you if I figure anything out.

Anyway, I have officially mastered flying. And my top speed is amazing. It's at least 100 miles per hour, probably more. Remember a week ago when I wrote about my rescue by Spider-Man and my own personal discovery after that? Since then I have gone out at night and practiced stunts and moves such as diving, loops, swerving, and more. I don't understand how I can handle it! It's probably something built-in… anyway, I have practiced almost every possible scenario imaginable, and landing and taking off seems like child's play to me now. Ha! It's funny to think that I consider flying physically on my own without any machinery _normal_ while other people around the world would consider it unreal and unthinkable! I guess I understand what Spider-Man deals with now.

Oh, before I forget, I am using an American accent when I talk in costume so no one will recognize me (those drama classes in high school came in handy!). Also, I discovered that I can hold things with my feet like a falcon does with his talons! They seem to have become really limber! And I can't even begin to explain what's happened with my five senses… it's like they've doubled. You know about my sight already, but everything else is that strong and amazing, too! I can _feel_ people walking around me through vibrations in my feet; I can smell everything and distinguish exactly where it's coming from; I can hear things perfectly clearly that are _at least_ 100 feet away from me; I can taste like never before and everything is delicious!

Better go try to figure out my helmet thingy.

In Christ,

Cynthia


	3. Friend or Foe?

**__**

Friend or Foe?

"Come on, Peter," the photographer mumbled to himself, "you can do this. Just step into the building." He tried to force himself to take a step and enter Barnes and Noble, but it was to no avail, for his pathetic, wimpy side that was girl-oriented held him back like a prisoner in shackles. He tried to reason with his scared-to-death-of-women mind, telling it to back off because he was just looking for books… sort of. The internal battle lasted no longer than a few seconds and Peter was just about to turn around and go home when she came out the front doors.

"Peter!" Cynthia cried. "What are you doing here?"

He froze in terror. He quickly plastered a smile on his frightened face and replied, "Hi! I, uh… I was just… going by and was trying to… I mean, I was thinking of getting a book, but I wasn't sure, you know?"

Cynthia giggled. "How about I buy you that drink or book you want?"

Peter blushed. "Well, um… are you busy? You seemed to be leaving just now."

"No, I'm just on a lunch break," Cynthia replied, shaking her head. "I can get you that Starbuck's a minute, chat, and then go. It's no problem!"

"Well, how about I take you to lunch to chat instead?" Peter suggested. As soon as he realized what he'd said, he mentally beat himself up. _You idiot!_ his "woman" mind screamed at him. _You never ask women out!!! You're going to mess up and she'll hate you! Besides, you can't start falling for anyone! Being Spider-Man could majorly endanger her life!!!_ But again, something in the far, hidden corner of his normal mind hinted at him that he was doing okay and that everything would be all right. It was the same "safety" feeling he'd had in the library when he'd seen her, and the same feeling he'd had when he'd dared to talk to her then and at the _Bugle_.

Cynthia broke into his thoughts. "Sure! That'd be nice! Come on; I'll get you your coffee then!"

Peter smiled and followed her into the bookstore.

* * *

After Cynthia had ordered her sandwich from Subway, she and Peter sat down and talked for almost an hour. To Peter, Cynthia seemed amazing. Somehow, something about her being kept him talking and communicating with her. Cynthia was just ecstatic to be actually conversing easily with Peter, who had always seemed so incredibly shy. He was sweet and kind, yet there was something strong and mysterious about him.

As Peter walked her back to work, Cynthia saw him shake his head, thanks to her perfected and sharp vision. "What's wrong, Peter?"

He looked at her, confused, and said, "Huh?"

"I saw you shake your head at something," Cynthia replied. At his amazed stare, she explained, "I have peripheral vision." It wasn't a lie; she _did_ have peripheral vision, but it was just enhanced with her new powers, and she did not need to tell _anyone_ that yet.

Peter nodded and explained, "Well, I just saw something. It was a tabloid dissing Spider-Man."

Cynthia's heart fell. "That's terrible. Spider-Man's so wonderful, and I hate to see him being put down all over the place."

"Yeah, me, too," Peter replied sincerely. "I hate the way your uncle always tries to make him look bad. And I have to take pictures of him for Jameson to use with his nasty blows… I mean, no offense to your Uncle Jameson, I just hate what he _does_!"

Cynthia nodded in agreement. "I actually totally agree with you. Uncle John doesn't even know him and he hates him."

"Exactly. And Spider-Man's so nice, too."

"You've met him?!" Cynthia's interest was immediately sparked even higher.

Peter smiled slightly. "Yeah, I-I know him."

"That's so great! Next time you see him, could you please tell him 'thank you' for me again?" Cynthia begged. She couldn't believe Peter knew the blue-and-red-clad hero.

"Why? What'd he do?" Peter casually inquired of her.

Cynthia fell into a daze. Quietly and happily, she spoke, "He saved my life." She poured out the whole story to Peter, who just smiled when she finished. "He's amazing. Will you let him know for me?"

Peter nodded with a grin. "Sure! No problem."

* * *

Spider-Man swung down to the jewelry store that was being robbed and landed right in front of the doors. People were running around madly in a big mob of chaos while the police yelled to the thief inside to give up his hostage and come out. Someone saw him and desperately screamed, "Help my dad, Spider-Man! The robber's holding him at gunpoint!!!" Peter's heart went out to the young woman and he replied, "No problem! Have no fear; I'll be right back!"

Just as Peter was about to go save the jeweler, the thief flew out the door in the air, and landed on his back right at the feet of the police. Everyone stared in awe, even Spider-Man, as a costumed figure walked out of the store. It was a woman, that was obvious, and her tan and black outfit resembled Peter's, close-fitting and stretchy with black boots included. Her mask had a cover of plastic with pieces off to the side of it to look like wings, and the mask covered her whole face, her mouth, nose, and neck enveloped in the stretchy material on her outfit. The most unusual thing about her though, was the extra fabric attached to her costume's arms, so when she spread the limbs out it looked like she had wings. The black head of a bird, maybe a falcon, was on her chest.

"Spider-Man!" the woman cried. She put her hands on her hips and demanded, "_What_ are you doing here?!" The cloth part of her mask slightly muffled her words.

Peter stared at this new figure in shock. "Who _are_ you???"

"I asked you a question first," the woman replied with a hint of pride in her voice.

Taken aback, Peter tried to hold his persona of Spider-Man by answering strongly, "I help people in need. I was here to save the hostage but I guess I didn't know you existed."

He could see her roll her eyes underneath the tinted yet transparent plastic that served as eye holes for her to see through. "Of course you didn't know I existed. I'm new in town," she stated matter-of-factly. "However, you've seen me now, you've seen what I can do, and I suggest you do not mess with me. Have a nice day!" With that, the woman raised her arms and flew off before anyone could stop her.

Peter stared at the sky where she'd disappeared until he realized the crowd was still there, most of them looking at him. Suddenly feeling stupid for being caught in awe of the costumed figure, he was about to leap up onto the building to leave when a policeman called out to him.

"Spider-Man! Wait! That woman's a hero. Was she a friend of yours?" He had obviously not heard the conversation between the two.

"No, she wasn't," Peter replied before he scurried away. His mind racing, he mumbled, "I think she was an _opponent_ of mine."

* * *

Over the next few months, the rivalry between Spider-Man and the newly named "Falconess" grew. Many thought it was dumb how two heroes could be fighting against each other, and others understood why they did. It was a race for fame and glory, and only one would take the trophy.

Of course, there were other translations of the duo, too. J. Jonah Jameson automatically assumed they were a pair trying to wreak havoc on New York City. _The Daily Bugle_ was splayed with attacking stories and pictures of the costumed figures. Hate was brewing in the hearts of some toward the two.

Love was blossoming as well. Only a week after having lunch with Cynthia, Peter got up his courage to ask her out, and they'd been dating ever since. Everyone who knew them knew they were nearly perfect together, and the couple thought so, as well. But secrets can hurt, and both Cynthia and Peter had one, which they hoped they'd never have to tell.

* * *

Six months into her and Peter's relationship, Cynthia invited him over for dinner at her apartment. Her brother and his girlfriend would be there, and she hoped it'd be a fun time of talking and getting to know each other better. When Peter arrived, Thomas immediately pulled him aside to play a video game with him. When the two had met, they had immediately become good friends, and when Thomas had learned that Peter was willing to be a part of his huge obsession to video games, Thomas took every opportunity he could to play with his little sister's boyfriend.

Cynthia's friend and her brother's girlfriend, Emma Singer, was helping her set the table for dinner when they heard the guys yell and saw them madly pounding away at the buttons on the controllers. Emma shook her head and asked in her own British accent, "Will they ever grow up?"

"I highly doubt it, but that's what I like about them!" Cynthia laughed. "Oh, boys! Dinner!"

"Wait! I'm almost done killing Peter!" Thomas cried.

"Oh, that sounded _wonderful_, darling," Emma replied with sarcasm.

"Of course it did! You love it if I win," he joked. "HA! Got you!" Thomas patted Peter on the back and apologized, "Sorry, pal. Hope you'd do better in real life."

Peter smiled. Thomas had no clue who he was talking to. "I hope so, too," he merely replied.

The group sat down to eat. The subject of Spider-Man versus Falconess came up, and Cynthia tried to act normal. She'd never had to deal with this before.

"Our amazing Uncle John always thinks they're together trying to destroy New York City or something," Thomas stated as he took a bite of salad.

"I hardly saw anything on Spider-Man in London until this Falconess appeared," Emma added. "Now suddenly papers have at least one story about them a week and how they're struggling for dominance over here in New York."

"It's a really interesting thing to think about - what do you think those two feel during these encounters?" Cynthia vaguely brought up a question so she'd look involved.

"Good thought… hey, Peter, you know Mr. Spidey. Does he say anything about it?" Thomas asked.

Peter nodded. "Oh, yeah. I hear him mumbling complaints about the Falconess and how she interrupts his work."

Emma said, "I bet she feels the same."

__

You bet I do! Cynthia thought in anger. _If I could have one wish, it'd be to never see Spider-Man again by sending him to Antarctica!_

* * *

Cynthia loved flying. As a kid, she'd always watched birds and wished she could do the same. Now she was fulfilling her dream, and it was spectacular.

Her enhanced senses picked up a burning office building and she headed towards it. "Duty calls!" she said aloud to herself. As she approached the structure, she saw people pointing at her and yelling her heroine name of Falconess. Entering through a blown-out window, she landed softly on the crumbling floor. Not hearing anyone in trouble, she decided to quickly check out the place to see if everything was okay before taking off again.

As she dodged a falling piece of wood, she saw a businessman lying on the ground, unconscious. Carefully picking her way over to the spot around burning debris and weak spots in the floor, she kneeled next to the man and was about to pick him up when she saw Spider-Man across from her, about to do the exact same thing. "_You_ again!" she snarled. "Could you just leave me to do my job in _peace_ for once?!"

"You call this peace?" he casually replied. "I wonder what your definition of war is then."

She laughed mockingly. "Keep that up and you'll find out."

Cynthia heard him sigh. "Look, Miss Falcon: this guy needs to be saved and I won't fight with you if it endangers his life."

She raised her eyebrows, knowing he'd be able to see the movement through her eyepieces. "Are you suggesting you'll be the one to save him?"

"No, I'm suggesting we stop fighting for the moment." Spider-Man pointed to a safe. "Take your pick: they want the money saved as well."

She hated being so mean to the wonderful figure that had saved her life, but he didn't _know_ it was her, and he wasn't exactly being that nice to her anyway. She picked up the man in her arms and took him over to a window. "Thanks for being a gentleman and letting a lady pick first."

"If you consider yourself a lady," he mumbled.

"Very funny," she snapped as she held onto the man with her flexible feet and flew out the window. She hovered for a moment and said, "See you on the ground, Spidey!"

After handing the man over to the paramedics and sharing a cold glare with Spider-Man she flew off. She mentally screamed, letting out all her anger. _Gosh, that was so tight of him, that bloody bugger!!!_ She kicked herself for swearing and immediately asked God's forgiveness. Sighing, she realized that her fights with Spider-Man were stressing her out so bad that she was beginning to do things she'd hardly ever done that often before, like swearing. She decided she'd take a break from being the Falconess, but she would wait a while yet. She was still enjoying her solo rescues and good deeds without Spider-Man too much to quit right away.

* * * 

That night Cynthia went over to Peter's house to hang out and watch movies with him. They popped in _Independence Day_ and snuggled up on the couch. Neither had been this happy with anyone before in their lives. They could easily talk together, be together, and be _apart_ without being nervous or suspicious of anything. They loved walks in the park, conversing about deep and meaningful topics. They loved to have fun, dancing at parties or bowling at the lanes. And sometimes they loved things like this, just snuggling and enjoying each other's presence.

"Peter! Cynthia! I have some cherry pie for you both!" Aunt May announced, walking into the family room. She smiled her sweet way and said, "Do you want me to bring it in here?"

"No, I'll get it, Aunt May. Thank you so much!" Cynthia replied.

"No, Cynthia! I know how much you love this movie," Peter insisted.

She got up anyway, kissed him on the cheek, and said, "And I know how much _you_ love your cherry pie!" With that she went to get the dessert.

"Now wasn't that sweet?" May spoke as she followed her nephew's girlfriend. "What a nice girl!"

__

You have no idea, Aunt May! Peter thought to himself. _Man, I love her. I'm too lucky to have someone so special_.

Later, as the movie was ending, Peter felt Cynthia shiver. "Are you cold, Cynnie?" he asked quietly, using his nickname for her.

She nodded. "A little."

"I can go get a sweatshirt of mine if you want."

"No, I'll get it. It'll warm me up!" she decided. "Middle drawer?" Peter nodded and turned back to the movie. Just as the world defeated the aliens, Cynthia came back down.

"Hey, you missed us win!" he cried. Then he saw her pale face and immediately became worried. "What's wrong, Cynthia?"

"I… I don't feel well. I think I should go home," she stammered.

Peter instantly agreed and drove her home. He parked her car in the garage and made sure she got up to her apartment okay. "Hey, if you're not feeling better by our date tomorrow, let me know, okay?" She merely nodded. "Hope you get better, sweetie." He kissed her on the forehead and watched her go in before he left.

* * *

Peter was Spider-Man. Cynthia couldn't believe it. She'd noticed a speck of red fabric with black stuff on it in his drawer when she'd looked for a sweatshirt. Only her perfect vision could've seen the miniscule amount of material showing, but she had, and now she was shocked. She was glad that Peter had at least bought into the idea that she was sick.

She understood why he hadn't told her; it was the same reason she hadn't told him. They wanted to keep each other safe. But keeping these secrets wouldn't keep them safe emotionally and it wouldn't do any good to their relationship, either. And yet Cynthia didn't know if she wanted to tell him yet, about what she'd discovered and about who she was. He hadn't meant for her to find out about him, and she knew he hadn't wanted her to. She decided to wait until he spilled the beans before she did. After all, it was a man's job to lead things, especially relationships.

* * *

The next night, Cynthia and Peter went out on their date to a relatively expensive restaurant. The two were seated in a booth and after they ordered, Peter couldn't help but stare at Cynthia again. She wore a short but elegant black dress with a matching silk shawl and her beautiful blonde hair was pulled up into a French twist.

"Cynnie, you look… amazing tonight," he commented.

She smiled warily and mumbled, "Thank you, Peter."

He frowned and held her hand. "Are you okay? Do you still feel sick? You're sort of… quiet tonight."

She sighed. "No, no. I'm fine."

Peter wasn't comforted. Something in her eyes was making him uneasy, and he pressed on. "Is there something you need to tell me?" There was a pause as Cynthia didn't answer. "I'm ready to listen," he added.

She shook her head. "No, I don't have anything to say."

"Cynthia, I know something's wrong. Just tell me!"

"No! It's nothing."

Peter paused. "So there is something."

"Well, no offense, but you seem to be hiding things as well!" she snapped back.

He was taken aback. "Like what?"

"How am I supposed to know? You tell me!" she cried.

"Look," Peter calmly replied, "let's just work this out, okay? A relationship can't be built on lies."

"Then tell me your secret first."

Peter froze. She knew something was up with him. Had she started to realize he was different, as in a superhero? There was no way he was ready to tell her. "I… I don't think I need to tell you yet!"

"Well, you don't need to know my secret then!" she fumed. Peter had never seen her so mad.

"This is getting us nowhere," Peter growled.

"You're right," she agreed vehemently. "I'm out of here. See you later, Peter." She started to charge out.

"Wait, Cynthia! You can't leave!" Peter yelled after her, knowing the whole restaurant was probably watching them now.

She whirled on her heel. "Try to stop me."

He ran up to her. "When will I see you again?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know what to do right now. Goodbye, Peter." She quickly turned away and stormed out of the restaurant.

Peter clenched his fists and went back to the table, alone.

* * *

Cynthia stormed out of the restaurant. She was furious; why was he so stubborn to not tell her his secret? He was the man; he was supposed to be the leader. She knew he was shy, but he'd have to get past that if he wanted to be with her, because she desired an open and honest man.

Underneath all her excuses, she felt guilty. Before this had happened, she hadn't had a reason to tell Peter just yet. Now that they had realized they were each hiding something, she felt she should tell him sometime soon.

Cynthia was so lost in her thoughts that she had blocked out the world around her. She didn't hear people yelling at her, or the car honking and its tires screeching. Her super senses seemed slow, almost dead, as she turned her head to look at the car coming straight at her. Then everything went black as pain pounded her side.

* * *

Peter raced into the hospital late that night, his heart pounding and his mind full of worry and fear. He found Thomas and Emma and panted, "Where is she?! Is she all right???"

Thomas held up his hands. "Calm down, Peter. She's in the emergency room right now. We just have to wait."

The next few hours passed slowly for them. Samantha Zeigler, Chad Luker, J. Jonah Jameson, and Aunt May arrived at the hospital shortly after Peter did, and they all were quiet waiting for news. Peter was in turmoil more than the others; he might never talk to his love again, and the last thing he'd done with her was fight. He felt so wrong. He swore if she got better he'd tell her about his alter-self. He'd beg for forgiveness and apologize over and over again. He felt so guilty, so terrible.

Finally, they could see her. Cynthia lay on the hospital bed in a coma, bandages and cuts all over her body. Peter sat down next to her and did not move. The others simply stood around as Thomas started talking to her, instructed from a nurse to do so. Peter's heart was torn as Cynthia's brother quietly and emotionally told her he loved her, that everything was going to be okay, and related past memories of their childhood together.

They stayed all night, Thomas and Peter never leaving Cynthia's room, and Peter never leaving her side. A week passed, and the British woman still didn't come out of her coma. One night Peter and Thomas went to visit her again. It was a rainy and chilly October night, and the weather only dampened the spirits of the two. They entered her room and sat down next to the bed.

After a few minutes of silence, Thomas spoke. "Please wake up, Cynthia. If I skip work any longer back home in England, I'll be broke!"

Peter smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood and added, "Yeah, Cynnie. You have to wake up, or you won't be able to convince your uncle to like me more!"

"Oh, Uncle John likes you, he just doesn't dare say it," Thomas quietly told him. "But don't let him know I blabbed that to you, or I'll be dead!" Peter smiled at him, and he sighed. "I need a snack. Do you want something Peter?"

He shook his head and replied, "No, thanks, Thomas. I'm fine." The Brit left the room, and Peter turned back to Cynthia. He held her hand and rubbed it gently. Something felt weird. He frowned and rubbed more slowly, realizing Cynthia's hair was coarse. He squinted and looked closer. To his shock, his super-vision picked up that all the hairs on her arms and hands were tiny, tiny feathers. He was nearly blown off his seat from awe, and his head whirled in madness. It couldn't be true! So he had been yelling at Cynthia all those times he had encountered the Falconess? He couldn't believe it. On top of all his shock, guilt grew to a huge immensity and he felt sorry for everything, more than he had before. He had fought with her for the same reason she had fought with him, and then she'd gotten fatally hurt. Through his mass of jumbled thoughts, Peter whispered, "I'm sorry for everything, Miss Cynthia Falconess."

* * *

Cynthia flew through the cool night air with a renewed sense of freedom. A week ago she'd woken up from her coma, and she'd been released from the hospital yesterday. Now she was back in her Falconess costume, flying all over New York just for some peace. She had a second chance at life, and she had taken that chance right away. She and Peter had made up and forgiven each other already, though they both hoped the other would reveal their secret soon. All her rescues and heroic acts as Falconess now seemed more meaningful, for she understood death better. Life seemed wonderful, and she sincerely thanked God for everything she'd previously taken for granted.

She heard a scream from the streets below, and she dove, locating the troubled woman quickly. A burly man was trying to kill her in a dark alley, and the lady's frightened face lightened as she saw the Falconess approaching. Cynthia smiled beneath her mask, happy to know she had a positive effect on others.

Suddenly, a blur of red and blue knocked the murderer over. Cynthia sighed as Spider-Man quickly took care of him, and then turned to her as she landed next to the hero. Cynthia shot him a respectful glance that implied "good job," and Spidey looked surprised at the action. He ignored her for a moment, however, and gently approached the woman. "Are you all right, ma'am?" Spider-Man asked her.

She nodded emphatically. "Yes, yes! Oh, my goodness; thank you both!!! I saw both of you coming and joy welled up in my heart. You are truly a great team!"

The two heroes looked at each other with "if only she knew" looks. Cynthia spoke in her fake American accent, "Well, if you're all right, I guess we'll be off now." After the woman thanked them again and left, Cynthia sighed heavily. "Well. That was interesting."

Spider-Man suddenly seemed to become angry and hard. "Let's finish this. Now. Meet me on the roof." With that, he climbed up the side of the building next to them.

Cynthia's heart fell. She didn't want to fight Peter, but he didn't know that she knew that. So she bared her teeth, acted angry, and flew to the rooftop. She landed at the exact same time as Spidey, and they stood defiantly facing each other at opposite ends of the roof, two masked figures illuminated against the night sky by the bright city lights around them. If anyone had been watching and could have seen the hateful glares the two were shooting at each other, that person would have been scared out of his wits, knowing it was a face-off not far from a fight to the death.

Hands on her hips, Cynthia dared to speak first. "So. We meet at last, Spider-Man."

He acknowledged her with a nod. "Falconess."

"You seem to be constantly in my way," she stated with a tone of disappointment.

"As do you. What a coincidence!"

"_And_ you keep ruining my perfect reputation." Cynthia hated snapping at Peter like this, but she had to play the role.

"Again, as do you," Spider-Man spat back.

The British woman growled in frustration. She put her hands on her hips and declared, "So what do you want to do about this? I'm not one to fight someone who's really done nothing truly wrong."

"No, I wouldn't expect you to. That's not like you, Cynnie."

Cynthia stood in shock. He knew. Peter knew it was her. Then again, she knew it was him. Not only had she seen the costume, but only Peter called her Cynnie, only Peter. Knowing it was of no use to her anymore, she took off her mask and shook her hair out. "How'd you know it was me, Peter?"

"Well, I no- wait! How did you know it was _me_?!" he cried.

She smiled. "I asked you first!"

Spider-Man pulled off his own mask, revealing the gentle face of Peter, and he sat down on the roof. "Wow. This is… _weird_. I mean, I couldn't believe it when I discovered you were the Falconess, but I can't believe you found me out."

She went and sat down next to him. "So how did you figure me out?"

"Well, at first, I never ever expected you to be her because I was dating you and you didn't use your British accent as the Falconess, but a few nights after you got in a car accident, I saw the feathers on your arms, and I knew. It was… scary," he finished with a small laugh.

Cynthia smiled and replied, "Yes, I thought so, too. And, by the way, you're the only one who calls me 'Cynnie' so that was a complete give-away."

"Really? No one? Not even Thomas?!"

"Nope."

"Well, that was dumb then, huh?"

Cynthia laughed. "Yes, I suppose. Anyway, I also saw a teeny tiny section of your costume that night at your house when I went to get a sweater from your room. I freaked. I had to leave, so that's why I acted sick."

"You _looked_ sick; now I know why."

They sat in silence before Cynthia confessed, "I'm sorry, Peter. I shouldn't have snapped at you all those times we met."

"Me, too," he sighed. "If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have done it, either."

"But that's no excuse. We shouldn't have been so proud, so selfish. We should've talked nicely no matter who the other person might have been."

"True," Peter replied. He paused. "So we're both sorry, right?"

Cynthia nodded. "Yes. Definitely. I forgive you."

"And I forgive you." Peter smiled at her and then poked her arm muscles. "I just thought these were from you working out a lot. So how'd you get like this?"

Cynthia shrugged. "I really don't know _how_ genetically, but I know _how_ in light of events. That day at the Medieval Festival I was attacked by a _huge_ falcon, and the next night I felt terrible: headache, dizziness, sore arms and feet… you name it. Then I woke up, felt amazing, and I was like this."

"Oh, so that was _you_ in the _Times_!" Peter exclaimed.

Cynthia nodded. "Yeah, that article scared me to death until I noticed there wasn't a picture. So how did you become what you are?"

"I got bit by a genetically altered spider at a lab on a class trip my senior year of high school," Peter told her. Something bothered him, though, and he brought it up. "Cynnie, how could a normal bird change you like this?"

"It wasn't normal! It was twice the size of a _normal_ peregrine falcon."

"That's what I mean. Where did it come from?"

Cynthia froze. "You know what? I honestly don't know."

"I'll help you find out if you want, because that sounds like an unusual bird to me," Peter stated.

"That'd be great! I have often wondered how it came to be myself." Peter helped her up and they hugged. Putting their masks back on, they walked hand-in-hand to the edge of the rooftop. With a shy tone, Cynthia commented, "Wouldn't it be great to see the faces of everyone if we told them?" Peter just laughed as they flew and swung away.


End file.
